Snape's Secret
by Kasyntra
Summary: Severus Snape is perhaps the most tragic figure of the entire series. He loved Lily Evans ever since they were children but lost her. Now, he has vowed to protect her son, the child of his most hated childhood enemy. What are his thoughts about what is happening? Take a look and see. . . .
1. The Silver Doe

**Disclaimer: Yo no soy JKR—desafortunadamente. **

**-Snape's Secret-**

**The Doe**

Severus Snape stood in the headmaster's study staring out the window at the star strewn sky. His gaze drifted toward a willow on the grounds far below, and his eyes filled with pain. He closed them tightly and gripped the stone ledge under the window. The stone bit into his flesh, but he preferred this physical pain that he could control to the emotional turmoil that caught hold of him whenever he least expected. He was tempted to have that willow cut down, for it was a reminder of a grave mistake, second only to one, but he knew that even with the willow gone, the memories and the pain would still remain.

He was broken from his melancholy thoughts by the sound of panting. He turned around as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait.

"Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood—"

His eyes flashed. "Do not use that word!"

That word had been his downfall, and since that day when he was just fifteen, he had never used it again. He had strived to play his part to perfection, and neither the Death Eaters nor Voldemort had ever suspected a thing. Granted, at the beginning he had been very eager, wanting to be acknowledged, to not be bullied, to learn new magics, but even then, he had never used that word.

All these thoughts flew through his mind quickly. Phineas was still speaking, and he had to force his mind back to the present, to what the portrait was saying.

"—the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag, and I heard her!"

"Good. Very good!" cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the headmaster's chair. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor—and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him—"

"I know," said Snape curtly. And he did. If Voldemort should discover that he was helping Potter, he, Severus, would be killed, and that couldn't happen. Not yet at least. He had a task to complete, and complete it he would for her sake. He approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled at its side. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor.

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the sword?" said Snape as he swung a traveling cloak over his robes. It irked him slightly. The headmaster asked so much of him, and yet he didn't trust him enough to tell him _why_. What was Potter doing that was so important? And why must he have the sword?

"No, I don't think so," said Dumbledore's portrait, and Severus rolled his eyes to himself. Of course. "He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be careful, they may not take to kindly to your appearance after George Weasley's mishap—"

Severus narrowed his eyes. That had been an accident, but it was now one more reason for him to be hated. Not that he minded the hatred. He deserved it after all, for all he had done.

Severus strode to the door but then paused.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," he said coolly. "I have a plan. . . ." And he left the room.

* * *

"_Expecto patronum!"_

From the tip of his wand burst a bright silver light, blinding him at first. As his vision cleared, the light condensed to form a beautiful silver-white doe. She looked at him gently, and he stared back, tears coming to his eyes. It had been so long since he had last cast the charm. It hurt too much, after all. He smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile, a smile that didn't manage to mask the pain in his eyes.

"Go on," he said quietly, motioning to her. "You need to find him and lead him back here."

The doe stared back at him for a moment before turning around and galloping away. Something tore at his heart. Her leaving was just as painful as it had ever been. Even though he was the one who had sent her away (even though he was always the one who sent her away). Even though he knew she would be back, if only for a moment.

He stayed there, motionless, waiting. Eventually, he heard a noise in the distance. He sighed in frustration. Potter was making a racket, blundering through the trees. It would be a wonder if no one came upon them. A moment later, he saw the silver light of the doe through the trees. She came ever closer, and Severus hid amongst the trees, out of sight.

The doe came ever closer, finally stopping beside the frozen pool. She looked straight at where he was hiding, compassion evident in her silver eyes. Severus found himself shaking uncontrollably, locked in place by her gaze. The tears that had ceased while she was gone came back in full-force, streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so, so sorry."

The doe continued to stare back at him then turned her gaze to the shadowy figure approaching. Potter. The boy stepped closer, and Severus hastily wiped away the tears with his sleeve, hating to appear weak even if there was no one watching.

The boy slowly approached the doe, and Severus waved his wand. The doe vanished, though her image remained imprinted on Severus's eyes. Slowly, but not slowly enough, his vision returned, and he watched the boy, who was looking around the small clearing. His lip curled, and his eyes narrowed. He hated the boy because he represented everything that Severus had lost, that James Potter had stolen Lily from him all those years ago. And yet, he found himself protecting the boy on Dumbledore's orders. _But it wasn't for him_, he reminded himself. _It was never for him. It was always for her. For Lily, I will protect her son, for her. If only the boy didn't look so much like _him_, it might have been easier. But he had her eyes, her exact eyes. _

The boy had noticed the frozen pool and was moving closer, peering into its depths to where he would surely see the ruby glint of the sword on the stones. The boy looked around, and Severus moved closer, curious.

"Accio Sword!" he called, and Severus couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes. _It would not be that easy. The sword had to be taken under conditions of need and valor as Dumbledore would say._

It appeared that a similar thought had occurred to the boy, for after a few moments' consideration, he glanced around and then began to strip off his clothes. He stood in the winter air in only his boxers and stared down at the pool. He was shivering, and Severus noticed a chain hanging around the boy's neck. It appeared to be a locket. He furrowed his brow in confusion. _Why would Potter be wearing a locket?_

This thought was quickly interrupted: Potter pointed his wand at the pool and cried, "_Diffindo!_"

The ice cracked and crumbled, exposing the dark water below. The boy slipped in and, after a moment's hesitation, dived under.

Severus stood hidden amongst the trees, waiting for the boy to emerge. He watched as bubbles broke the surface, but then the bubbles ceased, and a terrible fear gripped him. Was the boy drowning? But the pool wasn't that deep . . .

Severus started out from the shadows the trees. _The boy couldn't die. Not now. He would not allow himself to fail at this one task. He would not allow himself to fail her again._

But before he had taken more than a single step, another figure ran into the clearing. His red hair shone in the moonlight, and Severus recognized the boy. Ron Weasley, Potter's faithful sidekick. The boy ran straight to the pool and dove in. Severus remained where he was, waiting with bated breath. _He could not help them. They could not know that he was here, that he had brought the sword. _After a moment, Weasley emerged, coughing and spluttering, with Potter in tow. He hauled Potter onto the edge of the pool then dove back in, emerging this time with the sword in hand.

Severus couldn't even feel the slightest triumph that he had successfully delivered them the sword. His black eyes were fixed on the Potter boy, who was lying still on the ground as though dead. _You can't die,_ Severus thought to himself. _Not now. You have to stay alive for her. I need to keep you alive for her. _

Suddenly, the boy began to cough and shake. Relieved, Severus quietly let out the breath he had been holding.

"Are—you—_mental_?" demanded Weasley. Severus watched silently as Potter struggled to his feet and stared at his friend in evident confusion. "Why the _hell_," continued Weasley, panting and holding up the locket by its broken chain, "didn't you take this thing off before you dived?"

Severus watched curiously. _The Weasley boy had a point_, he had to admit. _Why was Potter wearing it when he went in the water? From its broken chain, it was apparent that the locket had been choking him. What was it?_

Potter was still staring at Weasley with a look of utmost confusion on his face, and Severus took this opportunity to slip away from the clearing and the two Gryffindor boys. His mind was whirring. He thought again of the locket and what it could be. He thought of the sword and wondered why Potter needed it and what he would use if for. He thought of Dumbledore and the plan that the headmaster had, the plan that he would not share with Severus. All of these thoughts, however, were soon banished by a new one.

He thought of the silver doe and who she represented. _She really was beautiful_, he thought to himself as the pain filled his eyes once more.

**So. . . Comments? This will be the first of a series of one-shots from Snape's perspective. I'm, of course, going to write about his final moments, but if anyone has any suggestions, please tell me. I'd love to hear from you. **


	2. Her Eyes

**The last thing Snape sees before he dies are Lily's eyes (yes, technically, they're Harry's but still). Is that romantically tragic or what?**

**Disclaimer: The event of Snape's death and Severus Snape himself are ideas born of JKR, but I imbued them with the love, despair, fear, and regret that I think Snape would feel at this time. **

**-Snape's Secret-**

**Her Eyes**

Severus Snape stood before Lord Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack. He hadn't been here for years. Four years ago he stood in a room above with his wand pointed at Sirius Black. He had held the other man's life in his hands. How he hated Black! For everything Black and Potter had done to him while at school and Black's betrayal of Lily to the Dark Lord, Snape had wanted to kill him. He had later learned that Black was not actually the Secret Keeper that betrayed her location to the Dark Lord, but Snape still blamed him for urging them to use Pettigrew.

His mind then travelled back even further still. The time before that he had crept down the passageway, determined to discover the truth behind Lupin's monthly disappearances and verify his own suspicions. James Potter had run after him and dragged him away from the shack. He had saved Snape's life, but he was really saving his own skin, and those of his friends, because they would have been in such trouble in their sick practical joke had played out to the end.

With great force of will, Snape dragged his mind back to the present. He had a task to complete, and it was imperative that he do so. _"When Lord Voldemort fears for the life of his snake, when he stops sending her forth to do his bidding, but keeps her safe beside him under magical protection," _Dumbledore had said. Snape had been shocked at what Dumbledore had said, but the old headmaster had been right as usual. The Dark Lord did seem to fear for the life of Nagini. The snake in question was currently floating inside a magical sphere through which no spell could pass.

His mind kept blank of all thoughts that could betray him, Snape looked at Voldemort and said, "With all due respect, I must return to the battle. It will soon be over my Lord, their resistance is crumbling—"

"—and it is doing so without your help," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice. "Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there . . . almost."

"Let me find the boy," Snape begged. "Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please." He needed to find Potter. It was his final task. He had to give him the memories even though they meant the death of the boy, even though it felt like a betrayal of Lily—to have protected her son for so long only to send him to his death like a pig to slaughter as Dumbledore planned. But he had made a promise, and he must abide by it.

In his agitation, Snape strode back and forth along the room, and Voldemort slowly rose from his chair in the corner.

"I have a problem, Severus," said Voldemort softly.

Snape paused and turned to face his master, confused. "My Lord?" he questioned.

Voldemort raised his wand, and Snape stared at it, transfixed. The wand had once belonged to Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had taken the wand from the headmaster's tomb. Before he broke open the tomb, the Dark Lord had sent Snape away, but the next morning it was obvious what had happened. While Snape harbored no affection for the old headmaster, he disapproved of what became of him after death—his tomb defiled, his wand stolen. And for what?

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?" Snape continued to stare at Lord Voldemort. A feeling of unease grew within him, and he quite forgot his anxiety at finding Potter and completing his task.

"My—my Lord?" says Snape. "I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand." He stood very still, watching Voldemort warily.

"No," said Voldemort. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand . . . no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago." Snape stood frozen. The Dark Lord's voice was musing, calm, but Snape detected the underlying sense of fury it concealed.

"No difference," Voldemort repeated.

Snape sensed danger in the silky softness of the Dark Lord's voice. He struggled to think of something to say, to find the right words that would assuage his master. Deep within him, he began to fear he would never carry out his final task, would not have the chance to seek out Potter, because when the Dark Lord was in such a temper, he tended to murder the people in his vicinity. So why did he specifically send for him? Why didn't he keep Lucius with him? They all knew that Lucius's recent incompetence angered the Dark Lord and that he wouldn't mind being rid of the man once and for all.

Voldemort began to move around the room. Snape followed him with his eyes, standing like a statue where he was.

"I have thought long and hard, Severus. . . . Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"

Snape's eyes drifted toward the snake. _"When he keeps her safe beside him under magical protection."_ This was the moment; the time had come. He had to give Potter the memories. In truth, he had had to give them to Potter for some time now, but he didn't know where the boy was. Then mere hours ago he had learned that the boy was in the castle, but he had not had the opportunity to seek him out because McGonagall had been on the verge of killing him

"No, my Lord," he answered, "but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter." He had to find Potter, after all. He had made a vow; he had to carry it out.

"You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."

Snape desperately prayed that was not true. If the boy came to the Dark Lord, he would surely die. Snape was surprised when the thought crossed his mind. But that is what must happen, he thought, why should I care that the boy does what must be done before I can give him the memories? And there it was, he realized. He supposed he had known it for a while. He was going to give Potter more than just the memories he needed to complete his task. He wanted the boy to see his side of the story, not just the side he saw that day in the Pensieve. He wanted Lily's son to understand him, not hate him.

"But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself—" Snape began, desperate to come up with a reason for which he might be allowed to leave to find the boy.

"My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends—the more, the better—but do not kill him.

"But it is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."

Snape cringed internally. Yes, he had been very valuable to the Dark Lord, the man who had murdered her even though he had begged him to spare her. The words of servility he spoke were like poison on his tongue. But he had to speak them, else it would raise suspicion.

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But—let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can—" More than a hint of desperation stole into his voice. He had to find the boy; he had to!

"I have told you, no!" said Voldemort. Snape fell silent at the anger in the Dark Lord's voice. Voldemort's eyes glinted red as he turned to face Snape. "My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"

"My Lord, there can be no question, surely—?" Of course, there was no question, Snape thought bitterly. Even Dumbledore, the great hero of the Order of the Phoenix, wanted the boy to die. If both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, usually so opposed, agreed in this, how could it not come to pass?

"—but there _is_ a question, Severus. There is."

Voldemort stopped and stared at Snape. Snape willed himself to remain calm as those slit-like eyes stared into his. He frantically cleared his mind as the scarlet bored into the black.

"Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"

"I—I cannot answer that, my Lord." He was going to die; he knew it. The Dark Lord was building up to something, his fury slowly growing.

"Can't you?"

"My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

"I—I have no explanation, my Lord." Snape dragged his gaze away from his master's and stared at the giant snake floating in its glittering prison. "_When he keeps her safe beside him under magical protection_." The boy, he had to find the boy. He wanted, no needed, to be understood, to be forgiven, for all he had done. He had protected the boy for her ever since he came to Hogwarts seven years ago. He despised the boy, certainly, but he was _her_ son, after all. He had her eyes, _her exact eyes_.

"I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."

Snape looked back at Voldemort and tried again. "My Lord—let me go to the boy—"

"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," interrupted Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner . . . and I think I have the answer."

Snape remained silent. His mind raced ahead, and he beheld the answer in a terrible moment of truth. It was _he_, not the Dark Lord, who had killed Dumbledore. _Why, Dumbledore,_ he thought, _why? You must have known this would happen. Did you wish to sacrifice me as well? _

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."

"My Lord—" began Snape. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he had to say something to convince the Dark Lord to stop. He didn't really care if he died. What was life worth, after all, if Lily, precious Lily, were dead? But he had made a vow; he still had one final task to carry out before he died. He needed to live, if only for an hour more, if only to give Potter what he needed.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

"My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand even though he knew it was worthless. He was an excellent dueler after all, but he was facing the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. If it came to a duel, he knew there was no way he could win.

"It cannot be any other way," murmured Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

Voldemort swiped the air with his wand, and Snape cringed, but nothing happened. His eyes relaxed for a moment then widened in horror. The cage holding the snake Nagini began to roll through the air toward him. It engulfed him where he stood, frozen in terror. Voldemort hissed something in Parseltongue, and the snake darted toward him, its fangs piercing his neck. Snape screamed as his flesh was broken, and he felt the poison course through his veins. He began to struggle, but he couldn't push the cage off of himself. He felt himself quickly growing weaker. Soon his legs could no longer support him; his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor.

"I regret it," said Voldemort coldly before turning away. He pointed at the cage as he left, and it drifted off of Snape, lying on the ground, and the snake, still safe in her cage, followed him out of the room. Snape fell sideways, blood gushing from his wounds.

The pain was terrible, but even greater than the pain was his sense of failure. He had failed; he would not be able to give Potter the memories. The boy would never know what he needed to, and he would hate Snape for the rest of his life, never knowing the truth. His eyes stared blankly at the room as the pain and his self-detestation threatened to overwhelm him. He had failed Dumbledore, the man who had given him a second chance and who had given him this final task. And he had failed her. He had failed Lily, the woman he had loved ever since he was a child and for whom he continued to live every day even though he despised himself, even though she was gone, so that he could protect her son. But he had failed. "_Forgive me, Lily,"_ he thought.

Just then a figure materialized from thin air. A figure stood over him—a boy with scruffy black hair and dazzling green eyes under a pair of round glasses. It was Potter. Joy erupted in his chest, and he felt suddenly lighter even as the pain grew stronger. He had not failed. Somehow the boy was here; he could give him the memories. He could complete his final task before allowing himself to die.

The boy bent over him, and Snape grabbed his robes, pulling him close.

"Take . . . it. . . . Take . . . it. . . ." he rasped. With the remainder of his strength he willed the memories to come pouring out of him, and they did, the white-silver substance mixing with the scarlet blood. He poured out all the memories he could—memories of Lily and their childhood together, memories of his love for her and his despair when she was gone, memories of the conversations with Dumbledore—planning the headmaster's death, sending the sword to Potter, and finally the memory that Dumbledore required the boy to have—the necessity of the boy's own death because he had a piece of the Dark Lord's soul inside him.

Finally, the memories ceased to pour out of him, and Snape's grip on the boy slackened. He had done what he had meant to do. Now all that was left was to die.

"Look . . . at . . . me. . . ." he whispered.

His black eyes looked deep into the green. Into her eyes—Lily's. He saw her clearly in his mind's eye, smiling at him, and he relaxed. "_Lily,"_ he thought before the blackness engulfed him, and he knew no more.

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